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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29534337">i was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/merridian/pseuds/merridian'>merridian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Twosetviolin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Banter, Dialogue-Only, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Waiters &amp; Waitresses, Writer!Eddy, Writers, editor!Ray, fem!Brett Yang, waitress!Brettany</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:28:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29534337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/merridian/pseuds/merridian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Are you ever going to write me into your stories or what?”</p>
  <p>“I mean, I would, but I don’t see how your presence is going to affect the narrative in any way that’s positive, so.”</p>
  <p>“. . . You really know how to make a girl feel special, huh.”</p>
  <p>“Thanks, it’s a family trait.”<br/></p>
</blockquote>Or: a trashy romance novelist walks into a 24 hour diner and meets a long-suffering waitress. There’s a punchline somewhere in there, but they’re too busy <strike>flirting</strike> bantering to figure it out.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddy Chen/Brett Yang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveofjune/gifts">tsvtrying (eveofjune)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Fe, who’s my Valentine this year—amongst several others, but you’re the only one who sent me a fic prompt, so: happy (late) Valentines’ Day, my friend! I hope you like. . . whatever this is. &lt;3</p><p>The original prompt was “you come into my 24hr diner at the oddest times bc of your weird job but you keep forgetting that we talk because you're always sleep deprived”. Obviously, I’ve taken the basic idea and ran away with it into uncharted (crack) territory, but I hope it’s still acceptable! XD</p><p>Fictional book titles and plotlines shamelessly taken from and/or inspired by Harlequin novels.</p><p>Title from <em>Riptide</em> by Vance Joy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>“Hi there, what can I get you?”</p><p>“. . . I’m sorry, what?”</p><p>“I said, what can I get you, <em>sir</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, you don’t have to <em>sir</em> me, I feel—really old when someone does that.”</p><p>“Well, okay, so what do you want me to call you? Friend? Acquaintance? Pal? Buddy? Bucko? <em>Chum</em>?”</p><p>“. . . D, none of the above?”</p><p>“Sorry, I, uh, was getting ahead of myself there. Sir. I hope you’re laughing because you’re amused and not because you’re planning to humiliate me by leaving.”</p><p>“Call me Eddy instead, and it’s a truce.”</p><p>“Ah, well. Okay, <em>Eddy</em>, what can I get you?”</p><p>“I’ll have. . . I’ll have eggs and bacon. <em>At three in the morning</em>, wow. . . And, uh, some coffee, because I can barely keep my fucking eyes open. I might even order ten cups or something. Please.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . . What?”</p><p>“Didn’t know you had it in you, mister, but you just swore in front of a lady.”</p><p>“Oh. . . hell. Sorry. I’m putting my foot in my mouth already, I haven’t slept in a week, and I just—”</p><p>“Relax. Don’t you <em>fucking </em>worry, Eddy, I’ll get you your <em>fucking </em>coffee. Wait right here and make yourself comfortable.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“I’d normally say it’s my job, but—any time.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“I’m a writer.”</p><p>“So you said.”</p><p>“. . . Oh. I did?”</p><p>“You told me that three nights ago, Eddy.”</p><p>“Wait, really? <em>Shit</em>. Wait, <em>not</em> shit, sorry, I—”</p><p>“Yeah, no, you swore a lot too. You also ranted a lot about your editor—I think his name’s Ray or something? And how he’d been calling you all week about not sending him your first draft of your new novel yet. There was talk of the ‘<em>mystical effects of having a stick up one’s ass’</em> involved.”</p><p>“Ah. Right. Now I’m just really embarrassed. Sorry, I didn’t mean to just dump all of that on you. I was really. . . tired.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry about it, it’s fine. I didn’t mind at all. It’s refreshing, not having to bullshit my way through civility here. It’s not like this place is a five star <em>anything</em>, either.”</p><p>“. . . That’s a little worrying. Are you pretending to bullshit your way through civility with me?”</p><p>“No. I find you just fine the way you are now. Weird cryptid status notwithstanding.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re welcome. Don’t let it get to your head.”</p><p>“I’m not.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“. . . No, but really, I’m a writer. I write for a living.”</p><p>“Yeah, I got that the first time you said <em>I’m a writer</em>. Are you trying to market yourself to me?”</p><p>“Is it working?”</p><p>“Hmmh. A little bit, yeah. Mostly because I’m really concerned about what the marketing goal is, here.”</p><p>“Just trying to catch new readers. Ray says it’s beneficial for my bottom line.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll bet. Sad to say this, but I don’t think I’ve got room in my budget for some books. I gotta feed and clothe myself too, y’know.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, it’s no big deal.”</p><p>“Someday, I might.”</p><p>“Will look forward to that.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . . Anyway, I’ve got a deadline to catch, and the new story’s still in shambles. Ray’s going to punt my ass into the ether.”</p><p>“Aw, poor baby. Well, go on, drink your coffee and get to writing.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“Read me something.”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“You promised me you’d read me something from one of your books the last time you came here.”</p><p>“Oh. Did I? Sorry, I—I don’t remember that.”</p><p>“That’s okay, but I’m not about to let you off the hook that easily, yeah? Read me something you’ve written. You <em>promised</em>.”</p><p>“Well. . . Okay, if I <em>promised</em>.”</p><p>“Yeah, go on. There’s nothing to worry about—it’s 2AM and no one’s going to fall victim to your prose, for better or worse.”</p><p>“I feel really encouraged by that, thank you.”</p><p>“Any time. Now read something.”</p><p>“Hmmh—here. ‘<em>The beating organ in his chest matched the beep of the heart machine. Oliver gazed at her hand on his arm, digits glistening with sweat. Was she feeling what he was feeling? Could he trust his instincts? Maybe. He swivelled, suddenly, and blinked, tilting his head in disbelief at the sight. She was looking back at him. There, reflected in her crystal orbs, was the look of love.</em>’”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“Thoughts?”</p><p>“<em>Jesus</em>.”</p><p>“And Mary and Joseph, yeah.”</p><p>“You called her eyeballs <em>crystal orbs</em>. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”</p><p>“For the sake of my fragile heart, I implore you to do neither of those things. Just don’t say anything. Let me eat my pancakes in peace.”</p><p>“Well, as your new gal pal, I’m obliged to tell you you’re no Jane Austen or Charles Dickens, and that you are definitely in the league of trashy romance novelists. Not that that’s a <em>bad</em> thing, per se. We the common people need our torrid love stories to feel better about the emptiness in our own lives. I say keep on, Doctor Romance.”</p><p>“Thanks, my ego really appreciated everything you said after ‘<em>league of trashy romance novelists</em>.’ It was really gratifying to hear.”</p><p>“Oh, come off it. At least I didn’t say anything about quantity over quality, right?”</p><p>“God, you’re really hurting me bad.”</p><p>“Take it like a man, Mister Chen. Critique is good for you.”</p><p>“If you say so. I usually only trust critiques from my editor and sometimes my sister.”</p><p>“I’m hurt you don’t have me listed as a trusted source.”</p><p>“I might’ve if you hadn’t just given me absolutely unhelpful commentary about my work. Your potential membership got revoked.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. I’m planning a funeral for it tomorrow. You should come.”</p><p>“Maybe I will. Only for the coffee, though.”</p><p>“Uh, <em>no</em>, you can’t treat a somber event with that kind of casual indifference. What, you assume you can just saunter in and drink from the refreshments stand? I’ll call the guards on you, don’t think I won’t.”</p><p>“You’re smiling. Sorry, I’m not threatened by you.”</p><p>“Well. . . You shouldn’t be, anyway.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . . And yet. ‘<em>Trashy’</em>, she says.”</p><p>“Just eat your damn pancakes and get over it.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“Are you ever going to write me into your stories or what?”</p><p>“I mean, I <em>would</em>, but I don’t see how your presence is going to affect the narrative in any way that’s positive, so.”</p><p>“. . . You really know how to make a girl feel special, huh.”</p><p>“Thanks, it’s a family trait.”</p><p>“Well, fine. Whatever. It’s not like I wanna be that Johanna whatshername. Wait, I have it on my phone—ah, here it is. <em>‘Runaway groom Damian Wilde has long been the subject of town gossip—and so has Johanna Lee, who’s returned to Sengel Town after leaving her villainous ex-husband. Soon, an innocent kiss to provoke the rumor mill unleashes a fiery attraction neither can resist. Will the wealthy rancher fall hard—or will the country darling be the one to run this time?’</em>”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . . Well?”</p><p>“You’re checking my books on Goodreads.”</p><p>“No. Yes. Maybe—and <em>aha</em>, don’t you raise your eyebrow at me, mister. In my defense, I was bored! I didn’t have anything better to do.”</p><p>“Nothing <em>else </em>to do, either? At all?”</p><p>“You really think I’d be out being sociable or productive in the morning when I’ve just gotten off a graveyard shift? Anyway, it doesn’t take, like, two minutes to browse through your works, and it’s not like I’m stalking <em>you</em> personally or anything. Give me a little credit here.”</p><p>“Wait, how many hours is your shift again?”</p><p>“. . . You forgot we talked about that again, didn’t you? But whatever, no big deal. The thing is: I don’t have much else to do at ten in the morning aside from binging on Netflix and stuffing my face full of Cheetos and what-have-you. I figured checking up on my new buddy’s bibliography would be a more productive use of my time.”</p><p>“Or maybe we just need to find you better hobbies. Have you considered listening to classical music?”</p><p>“I have. I like Tchaikovsky.”</p><p>“I like Sibelius.”</p><p>“Good for you. But I’m not about to just let your little spicy plotline slide. I mean, c’mon. <em>Ranchers?</em> <em>Really</em>?”</p><p>“You don’t think horses are sexy?”</p><p>“. . . Fine, point taken.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“‘<em>While not all of Zachary Chang’s playboy reputation is deserved, a recent scandal means he has one last shot to stay on top as the CEO of his family’s company. He has to prove himself and settle down. Bright, beautiful, and beloved Sybelle Summers will make the perfect fake fiancée. Zachary promises Sybelle whatever she desires in return—but what she secretly desires is him!</em>’”</p><p>“Oh god.”</p><p>“Yeah, I said the same thing when I first read it.”</p><p>“In my defense, I don’t usually get to write my blurbs.”</p><p>“Well, maybe that’s a good thing, because I know whoever’s writing these has a particular audience in mind to pander to—and it’s fucking <em>working</em>! I can’t believe you got 200 reviews for <em>The Business of Love</em>, I really can’t. And fucking <em>350</em> <em>reviews</em> for <em>Wilde Hearts on the Prairie</em> too, like: are you kidding me? Oscar’s rolling in his grave.”</p><p>“Oh ye of little faith. Obviously, my readers are finding my works enjoyable no matter what the titles or the blurbs say, so maybe cut me some slack.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Truth be told, I’m really looking forward to getting a copy of your books so I can talk shit about them straight into your eardrums.”</p><p>“. . . Are you saving up to buy them?”</p><p>“It was either that or pirate your books off the internet, but I don’t really trust any of these shady websites. I’ve only got one laptop, and I sure as hell am not going to risk introducing viruses to it for the sake of <em>your </em>bibliography.”</p><p>“That’s very protective of you.”</p><p>“I thought so as well. Anyway, I’m saving up so I can get copies for myself, and then I can pass them over to my brother on his birthday when I’m done reading. See, two birds with one stone. I save money and I make people happy. I’m smart as hell.”</p><p>“You have a brother?”</p><p>“Yeah, do <em>you</em>? Nah, just kidding, I know you don’t and that you have a sister instead, because <em>I’m</em> the one who remembers what we talk about and <em>you</em> never do.”</p><p>“Sorry. It’s 1AM, and I haven’t drunk my sixth cup of coffee yet.”</p><p>“Yeesh . . . Anyway. Ray could be your brother.”</p><p>“<em>No.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>. Don’t you two have the same surname?”</p><p>“I’d rather die than have Ray as my sibling.”</p><p>“Oh please. Talk about the lady doth protest too much.”</p><p>“I’m not the lady here in this room.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s true. Unless you’re not telling me something, and then we’re going to have to discuss what that means for our relationship.”</p><p>“I’m all man. Thoroughly manful. 100% man meat.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . . Did you just snort at me?”</p><p>“Write that line in your next book, and you’ll have your readers snorting, I can tell you that.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Look out</em>—oh my god! Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine, I’m—”</p><p>“No, you’re not. Stop touching it. Where’s your first aid kit? Do you have one here? Go put your arm under cold water.”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>, Eddy, I know how to treat a burn. Calm the fuck down.”</p><p>“. . . Sorry. You’re just—um. You scared me.”</p><p>“It’s fine. The first aid kit’s over there, by the way.”</p><p>“Okay, I got it.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“Ugh.”</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, no, I just got boiling water spilled all over my arm, but I’m doing super great!”</p><p>“Glad to see you don’t lose your sass even in these kinds of situations.”</p><p>“Haven’t you heard that humor’s the best medicine?”</p><p>“It’s <em>laughter</em>, actually, but y’know. Whatever floats your ship.”</p><p>“. . . I hate you.”</p><p>“But you’re laughing, so I think I’m doing just fine in your good books, hey?”</p><p>“Whatever. Just finish spreading the petroleum jelly and fix me up already.”</p><p>“I’d make a rude joke by now, but I think you wouldn’t appreciate it.”</p><p>“Incorrigible.”</p><p>“I love it when you talk so articulately.”</p><p>“Gross.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . . Ow.”</p><p>“That good? The bandage is fine?”</p><p>“Yeah. Thank you.”</p><p>“Always.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . . Anyway, uh, maybe you can stop holding my hand so you can go finish your sandwich and I can mop up the floor.”</p><p>“Oh! Sorry.”</p><p>“Stop apologizing. Nothing that just happened was your fault.”</p><p>“Yeah, I—okay. You’re okay?”</p><p>“Just peachy. Go on, go back to your table and eat your food.”</p><p>“Wait, I—I can mop the floor for you, if you want.”</p><p>“What, and let you kick me outta my job? It’s fine.”</p><p>“I’ll buy a slice of pineapple pie for you from the menu. My treat.”</p><p>“. . . Do you remember when I told you I liked pineapple pie?”</p><p>“Uh. No—sorry. I just picked at random. That’s kinda lucky, isn’t it?”</p><p>“. . . I guess. Thanks. Now go on, leave me alone. We can eat together when I’m done.”</p><p>“Awesome.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“You know, it’s getting really hurtful that you don’t remember our little talks as vividly as I do.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I really am. But just answer the question, please?”</p><p>“My birthday’s on the day I was born, twenty-seven years ago.”</p><p>“. . . Come on, please? I’m planning a surprise, and you’re not making it easy for me.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m definitely of a mind to make you work for it, yeah?”</p><p>“What do I have to do to get the right answer?”</p><p>“Uh, how about you remember the last three times I repeated that little tidbit for you?”</p><p>“. . . I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry I forgot. Do you need me to grovel at your feet?”</p><p>“As much as that image <em>might </em>appeal to me, no thanks. How about you write it down so you don’t misplace that information in your brain, hmmh?”</p><p>“I’m about to write it down right now on my calendar, see?”</p><p>“Yeah, I see it. March 3rd. And by the way, don’t bother reciprocating—I <em>know</em> your birthday’s on March 23rd.”</p><p>“It is.”</p><p>“How’s it feel to be bested by a girl?”</p><p>“Like a defeat nothing can compare to.”</p><p>“That’s satisfying to hear. Anyway, for your punishment due to forgetfulness, I’m now forced to read a blurb from one of your wonderful, wonderful books.”</p><p>“Ah, fuck.”</p><p>“Mmm, indeed. See if this isn’t incentive enough for you to remember. Where is—ah, here we go. ‘<em>Dr. Lara Whittaker’s temporary job in Los Angeles is a chance to refocus on her goal of becoming chief of medicine. However, she is unprepared for her former resident, Dr. Matthew Santiago, to be working in the same hospital. When Matthew makes it clear that he wants her, the term “night shift” takes on a whole new meaning! But Matthew’s family needs him, and Lara has fought long and hard for her career back in New York. Can they figure out how to deal with the threat of separation? It’ll take more than a simple operation to make this work!</em>’”</p><p>“. . . <em>Nightly Encounters</em> was a book I never wanted to think of ever again.”</p><p>“Well, boohoo. Not to mention the premise is just plain indecent. You’re doctors! You’re supposed to be focused during the night shift and not sucking each other’s faces off in a storage closet somewhere. Someone could be dying on your watch in the emergency room, and you’d never know!”</p><p>“Yeah, the premise doesn’t really lend itself to anything near realism.”</p><p>“Oh, you <em>think</em>?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, point made. So does that mean you don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure?”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“Uh, ignoring how that question came from out of nowhere, that’s a pretty strange assumption to make. I’m just saying—work is work, and if the situation calls for it, you have to focus, no matter how tempting the environmental factors get. There’s a time and place for every purpose under heaven.”</p><p>“So you’d be okay with it if the situation <em>doesn’t </em>call for complete focus in your work?”</p><p>“. . . Maybe.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“. . . So does it mean anything that I said maybe?”</p><p>“Maybe, maybe not.”</p><p>“Okay. Weirdo.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, this is Wagner 24 Hour Diner, how can I help you?”</p><p>
  <em>“Good evening, am I speaking to Brettany Yang?”</em>
</p><p>“. . . Uh, yes. Who’s speaking?”</p><p>
  <em>“This is Ray Chen. I’m an editor at Ling Ling’s Publishing. You might know me from the dickhead writer guy we’re both mutual friends with—his name’s Eddy Chen?”</em>
</p><p>“Oh, <em>shit</em>! Oh my god. Yes, hello, glad to finally meet you. Or not meet you, but talk to you, at least.”</p><p>
  <em>“And to you too. I’ve been hearing about you over and over for the last five months, so you can imagine just how excited I was to finally speak with you.”</em>
</p><p>“. . . Really?”</p><p>
  <em>“Really, really. I should come by and visit the diner with Eddy one of these days, maybe we can exchange embarrassing stories about the idiot.”</em>
</p><p>“That’ll be awesome. I like you already.”</p><p>
  <em>“I like you as well, ma’am. Anyway, I called to ask you for a mailing address so I can send you a copy of So We Remember, fresh off the press.”</em>
</p><p>“Oh—huh? You want to send me a copy of Eddy’s new book? Why?”</p><p>
  <em>“I think it’ll be very beneficial for all parties involved if you get to read it.”</em>
</p><p>“Okay, because that’s not suspicious at all. . . Do I need to pay anything?”</p><p>
  <em>“No, consider it my treat. Just promise me you’ll read it as soon as possible. Preferably before Thursday next week, when I release Eddy from my editorial talons and he’s free to wander over in that direction. Please?”</em>
</p><p>“Uh, sure, of course.</p><p>
  <em>“Thank you. So about that mailing address. . .”</em>
</p><p>“Before that, I’ve got a question for you, Ray.”</p><p>
  <em>“Go ahead, shoot.”</em>
</p><p>“Are you sure you and Eddy aren’t family or something?”</p><p>
  <em>“I wouldn’t want to be related to him even if you paid me a million dollars. So no, but thanks for asking!”</em>
</p><p>“No problem, Mr. Chen, your secret’s safe with me. Anyway, here’s where you can send the book. . .”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“So I think you’ve been lying to me.”</p><p>“. . . About what?”</p><p>“Not remembering your semi-nightly talks with me.”</p><p>“What makes you think that?”</p><p>“Ray got me a copy of your new book.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“Look, I’ve got the whole set of your other books too, but I really just wanna point out that I have a copy of your new book.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“And I’ve read it.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“In fact, I finished reading it this morning before coming in for my shift, and <em>no</em>, I do not appreciate being induced to cry in public transportation and in broad fucking daylight, okay? I think I scarred a toddler for life on the train. I need a refund for my tears and humiliation.”</p><p>“I’ll pay any recompense you want.”</p><p>“A million dollars. No, I’m <em>kidding</em>, okay, put your phone away. I just—here, listen to this. ‘<em>He made the joke that he was 100% man, an all man meat burger, and Brooke snorted. It was the kind of thing he was proud to be the cause of. Her laughter was the most beautiful sound in the world, no matter how slight it was.</em>’ Like what the fuck? You remember what I said, like, <em>three </em>months ago?”</p><p>“Well. . . Yes, I know what my writing says—”</p><p>“Yeah, no, see, here’s another thing, hey? You’ve been holding out on your readers for a long fucking time. I mean—still not Austen or Dickens, but it’s hell of a lot better than your previous works! It’s like someone killed you, hid your body, and then assumed your alias to write under the name Eddy Chen. It’s <em>that</em> shocking.”</p><p>“Ouch.”</p><p>“Yeah,‘<em>ouch</em>’! How dare you write garbage for years and then turn around to drop this—this <em>tour de force</em>!”</p><p>“Maybe I just got inspired and years of writing finally clicked for this one new novel.”</p><p>“‘<em>Inspired</em>’, my ass! I don’t believe you at all. In fact, why should I believe you or anything you say after this whole fuckery? I keep parroting stuff about my life that you just magically seemed to forget every time like it’s no big deal!”</p><p>“If you’d just let me—”</p><p>“Shut up, okay, I’m talking here. Like—how could you? What do you think I felt when I read this part? Look—listen to me. ‘<em>Her favorite was pineapple, and so he bought her an entire piece of it. He wasn’t sure what she thought of his gift, exactly, until he saw the way her eyes lit up as she bit into the fruit. It was like watching fireworks sparking in the depths of her gaze. Earl never thought he’d be jealous of an inanimate food item, but apparently, there was a first time for everything</em>.’”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“And there’s also this passage: ‘<em>They danced to Tchaikovsky the night before his flight to Singapore. He held her tight like he never wanted to let go—and god knows he really didn’t want to. Her brother waited just outside the door to pick her up and drive her home, but Earl couldn’t resist leaning closer to tuck her red hair behind her ear, couldn’t resist lifting her hand to kiss the soft skin there.</em>’ Like, come on! <em>God</em>—here, take your damn book while I drag my fingers through my hair like a dramatic maiden. You’ve reduced me to this, you bastard. I don’t—I just—what the fuck.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“Look, if—if you’ve got something to say, just <em>say</em> it. Because you wrote me into your novel after all, and you made me cry a fuckton of times, and I—I don’t know what to <em>think </em>right now.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“Stop flipping through the pages of your own goddamn book and say something.”</p><p>“. . . ‘<em>This was the part in every romance novel where the hero effortlessly declares his love for the heroine and kisses her before the end of the story, but Earl didn’t know what to say. All the words disappeared down into the desert sands of his throat. Brooke looked at him, then, and it felt a little bit like the world splintering apart, a little bit like the world remaking itself around her—the one fixed point. I love you, he thought, like I’ve loved nothing else. He wanted to know her like nothing else: from the inside out, thoroughly and endlessly. Theirs was a story he never wanted to end.</em>’”</p><p>“. . . Did you—did you <em>quote your book</em> at me to ask me out?”</p><p>“I find that sometimes, the words I’ve prepared for a good long while aren’t going to fail me when it comes to important matters. Also, Ray’s an awesome editor, and he looked over this part a hundred times when I asked him to, so I trust him on this.”</p><p>“I—what—why are we talking about Ray? Let’s not talk about Ray.”</p><p>“Okay. Okay.”</p><p>“We’re talking about us.”</p><p>“Yes, yes we are.”</p><p>“You—you just asked me out. After months and months of pretending like you don’t remember every little thing we’ve talked about and making me feel like I’m expending too much effort into someone who can’t or won’t feel anything close to what I feel for him.”</p><p>“. . . I really am sorry about that. I didn’t mean to deceive you. I just—you were so luminous and so bright, and you brought me back to life after a long time of just—dead air and silence. You made me like writing again, you made me want to write and write <em>seriously</em> for a change, and I didn’t—I didn’t want to let go. I just wanted to keep talking to you forever, even if it meant you’d keep repeating things I already know. I wanted to meet you, know you for the first time, over and over again. I—I messed up, I know that. I know I’m a colossal idiot, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness or anything, but if—if you’ll still consider me worthy enough to talk to, I promise I won’t do anything like that ever again.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“Look at me. Please—please believe me?”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . . Okay. Yeah, I believe you. But you don’t ever get to lie to me again, or I will skin your dick.”</p><p>“Yes ma’am. I understand and acknowledge this threat, and I will internalize it forever and ever until the heat death of the universe.”</p><p>“You are such a fucking dork.”</p><p>“I know. So—I like you. I really, <em>really</em> like you. Will you please go on a date with me, Brettany?”</p><p>“. . . You’ve never called me by my name before.”</p><p>“Well. I was scared of pretty girls. And. You were the prettiest I’ve ever met, so. I didn’t think that I’d ever get the courage to say your name like this, but I’m going out on a limb here, because—because I really like you, and I want to be given the chance to say your name—more often. If you’ll let me.”</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“. . . I’ve never seen you blush before. I never thought I’d see the day.”</p><p>“Shut up. You’re ridiculous. I can’t believe I like you.”</p><p>“So is that a yes?”</p><p>“Yes. God help me, but I’m saying yes.”</p><p>“. . . That’s—that’s good. <em>Great</em>, even. Really. It’s—that’s awesome.”</p><p>“Shut up, okay, just shut up. You’re a menace. You’re going to take me out to a proper fancy dinner, and we’re going to talk about your life and my life and everything else we haven’t already talked about, and you’re going to thank Ray for his meddling, and then you’re going to bring me home like a proper gentleman, and I might just invite you in if you ask nicely enough.”</p><p>“Yes. All of that. Anything you want, Brettany.”</p><p>“And you’re going to remember it all in the morning.”</p><p>“Oh, I plan to.”</p><p>“Good. Now come over here, you jerk. It’s not a happily ever after until you kiss your long-suffering heroine.”</p><p>“Of course. Here I go—<em>mmph</em>.”</p><p>“. . . Less talking, more kissing. Now shut up—”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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